


Seven Long Years

by copperbadge



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Mentors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-04-22
Updated: 2007-04-22
Packaged: 2017-12-06 18:54:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/738990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/copperbadge/pseuds/copperbadge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"I think if Claude had still been in Claire's life, he would have been someone she could go to about this, and as soon as she did, he'd have started a ball in motion to conceal her. It'd make a great AU."  "I would really, really love to read that."</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was written during S1, and does not incorporate any canon from outside of S1.

_Seven long years I've been bound to my trade_  
 _In one more I'll be free,_  
 _I belong to that jovial crew,_  
 _And no one cares for me._  
\-- English-Appalachian folk song

**SEVEN YEARS AGO**

"Keep driving," Claude said when they stopped.

"What?" Bennet asked.

"Don't stop here," Claude said, looking out at the bridge where Bennet had pulled the car over. "I'll take you to her. We're more'n halfway there already. Just keep driving."

Bennet looked at him, but Claude was still staring out the window. He wasn't sure he trusted Claude to cave so easily; the invisible man was notoriously stubborn when he didn't get his way, and could be devious when he was handling the "specials". For all he knew it was just a stall for time. 

"Put the bloody car in drive, Bennet," Claude said, turning to him, and Bennet wasn't uncertain anymore. The look on Claude's face was enough. He pulled back onto the road.

"Would you really have shot me?" Claude asked listlessly, as they drove. "Just like that?"

"We swore an oath to find these people. And you buried one."

"How d'you know it was only one?" Claude said. "Might be dozens. Might be hundreds."

"Frankly, you're not that organized."

Claude gave a little laugh. "Sure. Of course."

"Why did you -- "

"What if it was Claire?"

Bennet's hands tightened on the steering wheel. 

"That's why you're so distant from her, innit?" Claude continued. "Turn left." Bennet swung the car across the lane and pulled onto another country highway. "You're already preparin' for it. Turnin' her in."

"She isn't -- "

"Not yet. But someday, maybe."

They drove in silence, the tension thickening the further into the wild scrub-country they went. Finally, Claude took a breath.

"Turn right here," he said. "Half a mile in. Pull up on the gravel shoulder when the road curves."

Bennet, perplexed now, did as he was told and parked the car, unbuckling his seat belt. Claude stepped out and inahled again, breathing the wet, humid summer air. Bennet knew he hated summers in Texas.

He followed Claude, drawing his gun despite the other man's derisive snort. He didn't say anything, just walked down a short incline to a dry clutch of trees, where he put out a hand to stop Bennet going any further. Down the hill, past the trees, there was a ramshackle farmhouse and a patch of grazing-land. Goats and cattle; two horses in the backyard. You saw these all over, especially in north Texas. Little farms. 

Claude sat down next to the trees, shielded from view by the empty branches. Bennet followed suit, crossing his arms over his knees, the gun in one hand. 

"What are we looking for?" he asked. 

"Just wait," Claude said, even as a door opened. 

The woman who walked outside was extraordinarily pretty, with a long dark braid of hair pulled away from her face. She had to be about twenty-five, Bennet thought, slim and tall, out of place in the dry yellow grass of the farmyard. 

He glanced at Claude and saw another spate of complex emotions cross his face; affection, worry, loneliness. It hadn't occurred to Bennet that this might be his motive. 

The woman swept the braid back over her shoulder and set down a basket of laundry, hanging it on a line that crossed the yard. The horses wandered over to inspect her and she laughed, the sound carrying up to the two men, clear and happy. The goats herded their way over as well, hooves up on the fence separating them from the yard, watching with their slotted yellow eyes. 

"She's telekinetic," Claude said, pointing to where she was hanging the laundry. Some of the sheets were lifting out of the basket of their own accord, shaking themselves out and settling neatly over the clothesline. "There's dozens of telekinetics in the files."

"Each different, each worth study," Bennet said reprovingly. 

"She is that," Claude answered. His eyes followed the woman's hands.

"What's her name?"

"Shannon. Lives with her parents. Got two brothers. None of 'em showing any signs, least not that I've seen." Claude rubbed his face with one hand, fingers touching his lips. "I found her, Bennet. Without the Company. Then they found her. So yes. I destroyed her file before anyone saw it. Or thought I had."

"Have you spoken with her?"

"Twice. Came out to see her, said my car broke down, got inside the house and borrowed their telephone, waited with her for the tow-truck."

"And the second time?"

"Came back to say thank you."

"Oh, naturally." Bennet glanced sidelong at him. "Why didn't you tell the Company when you found her?"

Claude rubbed the back of his neck, bowing his head. He was silent for a while. 

"She answered the door. Big -- _big_ blue eyes. Take a man's breath away, those eyes. Don't even remember what I said. The way she walks, and...she's bright, Bennet. Tol' me all about herself. Degree in Agriculture, goin' to set up an energy-efficient irrigation system, goin' to breed the cattle for better beef."

Down below, her chore finished, Shannon stretched and wandered over to the goats. 

"Got a bit of wit about her. Asked if I was tryin' to get to Glasgow and lost m'way. Poured me some lemonade. You Texans," he said, shaking his head. "Don't reckon I'll ever much understand you."

"You hid a woman from the Company because you fell in love with her, Claude?" Bennet asked. He couldn't help being just a little sardonic about it. 

"Nobody said anything about love," Claude muttered. "Just thought about what we do to people an' -- it keeps me up at night."

"For the greater good."

"That doesn't much help a man sleep. I do like her. Don't want her laid out on a table, hooked up to a machine." He turned to look at Bennet. "It ever occur to you that I haven't got a wife an' kids? Haven't even got many friends, other'n you. You ever think maybe I want more than just bein' one of the Company's Specials? Some kind of a life -- like that," he added, nodding at Shannon. 

"You're lonely," Bennet said. 

"Maybe I am. Maybe I just wanted _some_ one to have an ordinary life."

Claude laced his fingers behind his bowed head and closed his eyes. "Don't make me take her in. Use the Haitian, don't let her remember it. Just bag'n'tag her and do the tests and let her go back to her life. Don't ask her to choose. Don't hurt her."

"I can't butter up Thompson about what you've done."

"M'not askin' for anything for me. I can take my medicine like a good boy. Don't let him punish her on account of me, that's all."

Bennet drove them back to Primatech and walked Claude into Thompson's office. He knew better than to take him anywhere else. He left him in the atrium and spoke to Thompson for half an hour about ways and means, partners, and how the stress of this job could get to you a little if you let it. Thompson did not smile, but he did agree to give Bennet the Haitian while Claude was...seen to.

That was the last time Bennet saw his partner for a little over a month. In that month he drove the Haitian out to the farmstead when they were sure Shannon's parents were gone for the day, and they very quietly sedated her with a pill in her drink while they waited for a tow truck that wasn't going to come. 

***

Claude was returned to his custody -- Bennet had no illusions that this was what it was -- on a sunny afternoon in September. He looked pale, but otherwise healthy.

"How're you then?" Claude asked, when they were alone in Bennet's office.

"I'm all right. And you?"

"Fine. The girl?"

No names.

"She's fine. Back at the farm. We have plenty of telekinetics, she wasn't anything special. Her parents thought she went riding and got thrown by a horse; they found her about two days after she disappeared. She doesn't remember anything."

Claude nodded and silently offered him a small black device. Bennet took it and switched it on.

"Global Positioning device," Claude said. He gave Bennet a mirthless smile. "Very cutting-edge."

"Why...?"

Claude pulled down the collar of his shirt. There was a nasty, half-healed surgical incision just below his collarbone.

"There's a chip just under m'vein," he said. "Try to take it out and I'll bleed to death. That," he said, pointing to the device, "is to make sure we always know where Claude is."

Bennet set the box on his desk. His fingers felt dirty.

"Works at a range of over fifteen thousand miles. F'I'm gone for more'n a day, that's how we find me. Smash it, and there are five more in a Company vault. Data's recorded and sent to a server, so we always know where I've been, as well. We're very efficient, we are."

"Claude -- "

"No," Claude said, sharply. "We never, ever discuss this again."

Bennet frowned. "Where did you go?"

"They sent me home. Two weeks in England. No clue why; dropped me off in London with a Company credit card and a passport. Said to be back in Odessa by September." Claude shrugged. "Saw the sights. Got bored. Came back."

"See your family?"

"Got none. Just Claude."

"You were gone for a month. Two weeks in England -- "

"That's another thing we never discuss again."

Bennet nodded and studied his hands. 

"Come to dinner tonight," he said.

"I won't be your pity case, Bennet."

"You're my friend. Come to dinner tonight."

Bennet left the GPS locked in a drawer in his desk, where it stayed until the batteries ran down and it started to beep incessantly. Then he replaced the batteries and locked it up again. 

You would think that a month of missing time and what amounted to professional infidelity would have killed their friendship, but Bennet knew better. By the time they were home, Claude had switched himself on again and greeted Sandra with a hug and a kiss on the cheek, throwing the little ones up in the air and laughing, regaling them with probably made-up stories about his holiday in England. 

There were times when he switched off, especially that first time they were sent on another bag and tag, but in the space of a few months he was _Claude_ again. And Bennet did what he could to keep him there -- brought him home for dinner at least once a week, tried to keep him talking to other Company-employed Specials when they ran across them, tried to help him make friends. He discovered an odd, diffident, shy streak that was probably the reason Claude had been lonely in the first place. 

He wasn't sure how well it worked. Claude could flirt and banter and bicker like few men Bennet had met; he was good with the new kids, helping them learn and reassuring them about their abilities, but the second it went any deeper he pulled away and became a Company Man, all business again. Still, he never buried anyone else, and he never swerved a hair from Company procedure, so if he was unhappy there was only so much Bennet could do.

***

**SIX MONTHS AGO**

They lost him in the rain.

It poured buckets, whole deluges, a biblical plague of epic proportions the entire time they were in California. Claude dripped all over and cursed about never being dry again; Bennet couldn't keep his collars stiff or his shoes clean, and he cleaned his gun every night in case the water was seeping in. The radio stations thought they were funny when they incessantly played "It Never Rains In Southern California". Claude was Not Amused.

When it happened, the boy took off running and both men followed, but a seventeen-year-old kid in good training isn't easy to put hands on. The boy darted and dodged through a city he knew a lot better than Bennet or Claude did, and then Bennet went down in the rain, slipping on slick pavement. Claude didn't stop; long training told him not to, but the boy went one way and he went the wrong way, so eventually he circled back around and found Bennet sitting up, cradling one elbow and rubbing the back of his head.

"Lost 'im," he gasped, breathing hard. "Jesus Christ, I'm getting too fucking old for this. You all right?"

"Bruised but whole," Bennet replied, accepting the hand he offered and pulling himself upright.

"How's yer head?"

"I'll live. Where'd he go?"

"Search me," Claude said. "I'm getting the hell out of this weather."

Back at the motel, Claude dug up two dingy but reasonably clean towels. He hung one over his own head and tossed the other to Bennet, who was carefully stripping out of his shirt to inspect the damage. 

"When I retire," Claude said, changing into dry clothes and keeping up a running monologue, "I'm going to find somewhere it never rains and never gets above seventy degrees and there's no smog. And no bloody teenagers."

"Good luck with that," Bennet said, as his phone rang. He set down the towel and checked the ID. "Sandra."

"Better answer, mate."

"Honey, now's not really a good -- what?" Bennet asked, and Claude paused in the middle of buttoning his shirt. "Slow down, she's -- okay, is she okay? She was what? Where are -- how? Put her on the telephone."

Claude relaxed a fraction. If you could talk to the person who was or was not okay, probably they were at least in possession of their limbs. 

"Hey, Claire-bear, what happened? Mmh. Okay. You're sure? Yeah, freaking out is what we do, hon. All right. I'll be home on the next flight. No, I do have to. Claude can handle things here."

Claude lifted one eyebrow. Bennet shook his head at him.

"Okay. Love you too. Don't get into trouble. Bye."

He hung up the phone.

"Claire?" Claude asked.

"She got into some kind of accident and cut her hand. Doesn't sound serious, but she's in the emergency room. I have to go home."

"Bennet -- "

"It's not an option, Claude, she's my daughter. Stay here and find the kid; I'll be back if it really isn't serious."

"But the Company..."

"It's been six years, I think you can spend a day without me and nobody will mind," Bennet said. It was the closest they'd ever touched to talking about Shannon, all those years ago. He began throwing clothing into his suitcase. "There's going to be a search out for him after he doesn't come home. I need you to -- "

Claude was already setting up the police scanner. Bennet grinned. 

"We won't catch him, though," Claude said.

"He's seventeen, how long can a seventeen-year-old hold out?"

"He's a Finder and he's clever. He'll Find a safe place, and then he'll Find someone who can help him." Claude shrugged. "I'll stay, but if this rain doesn't let up I'm coming home on Friday and sod this kid."

***

Claude did come home on Friday, just in time for a deluge that swept through the southwest, making landing at the tiny Midlands airport difficult. He showed up on the Bennet family doorstep, head soaking, coat dripping, luggage wet through. Bennet answered the door, looked at him, and silently stood aside. Claude squelched into the foyer.

"That didn't work so well," he said.

"You want a towel?" Bennet asked.

"I want hard drugs."

"HON, WHO WAS -- Claude!" Sandra said, putting her head into the hallway. "You look tired."

"Sandra," Claude said carefully. "Sorry about the...floor."

"Pshaw," Sandra said. She was one of the few people he knew who could say that word, and the only one who could get away with it. "Been meaning to mop that anyway. Come on, get out of that coat, I'll put it in the dryer and you can stay for dinner. Shoes too, come on, come on."

Claude sheepishly let Sandra pester him into slipping out of his coat and suit-jacket, shoes and socks, and let her carry the damp clothing away. Claire and Lyle clattered down the stairs at the sound of voices, Lyle pretending to be manly and punching him in the arm (ow; the kid was getting big) while Claire hugged him hello.

"How's the patient?" he asked, catching her wrists in his hands. He turned them over, looking for a bandage or signs of stitches.

"All healed," she said with a grin. Claude looked up, still holding her wrists, and caught Bennet's eye. Bennet was poker-faced, but a hint of concern slipped through.

"And your dad ran all the way across three states to get back to you. I think he just got tired of California," Claude said, letting her go. 

"Aaaand, guess what," Claire said, grinning. 

"Can't possibly."

"I made the cheer squad!" she said. "I am officially a cheerleader."

"School-approved panty-flashing. God bless America," Claude said, and then Claire punched him too ( _Ow!_ ). 

"Dinner'll be ready in about ten minutes," Sandra called from the kitchen. "Kids, come set the table!" 

Claire and Lyle both rolled their eyes, but they disappeared into the dining room, leaving Claude still damp and Bennet still quiet in the foyer.

"Been debriefed?" Bennet asked. Claude noticed he was standing so that he could see the kitchen; he hated bringing work home with him.

"Talked to Thompson. They're puttin' someone in place in California but the kid's probably left the state by now. Formal debriefing tomorrow, by the Haitian."

"Will you pass?"

Claude felt a surge of resentment. He'd been debriefed by the Haitian before; it was standard procedure now, to have the Company digging in his memories to make sure he was keeping honest, but he didn't have to like the mistrust. He knew the Haitian understood how little he liked what they did, but what choice did he have now? And if the Haitian knew, if he'd caught the carefully-tucked-away anger at the Company, he'd never told anyone.

"Yes," he said. "I'll pass."


	2. Chapter 2

**TWO MONTHS AGO**

Summer was waning, even in Texas; rain came more often and at night the air was beginning to be breathable again. Soon it would be just-too-cold for light shirts and outdoor dinner, but the residents of Odessa were taking advantage of the beautiful weather while they could. Around six o'clock, the air filled with the smell of mesquite smoke, burning charcoal, roasting meat, and fragrant cooking herbs, followed by the musk of citronella candles as the mosquitos closed in on their prey. It was one of the best times of the year, in Claude's opinion, and the only time he ever felt really at home in America. Not because it reminded him of England, which would be grey and drizzly and already cold, but because it made him happy in a way few things did, especially these days. 

Bennet, at the enormous grill, was passing on the mystic lore of Texas barbecue from father to son while steaks and ribs smoked and hissed; Claire drowsed in the hammock with her music on, and Sandra was reading some novel, basking in the sun. Claude, just as happy to be out of Company uniform and in a t-shirt, swatted mosquitoes and enjoyed his sweet tea. Every year around this time he thought perhaps Odessa wasn't so bad, and he'd forget how he cursed the half-hearted winters and fierce, terrible summers. 

Over dinner, Claire and Lyle chattered about school and cheerleading and football, so painfully middle-American that it made Claude smile. There were always parental cautions about not letting grades slip, and that naturally led (Claire was more than clever) to the debate over whether good grades were also grounds for rewards, like access to the car and maybe permission to go on some school trip or other. Bennet helped his wife clean barbecue sauce off her chin, his affection ridiculously evident whenever he looked at her, and the children fought a war that involved continually shifting their unwanted helpings of potato salad from one plate to the next. 

"What about you, Claude?" Sandra asked, and Claude looked up from the remains of his steak. 

"What's that now?" he asked.

"When are you going to settle down?" she asked, smiling at him. "Or does the Company keep you too busy?"

"Bachelorhood has its benefits," he said, grinning back. "Besides, I've got Bennet to look after."

Bennet's smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "It's in my best interest to keep him to myself," he said.

"Selfish," Sandra said, nudging her husband with her elbow. "Listen, do you remember Ellen, she dropped by last time you were here for dinner?"

"Not contrived at all," Bennet murmured.

"Hush, you. Well, she said she thought you were _the_ most handsome man she'd seen in years. I'll set it all up, if you like."

"Oh, well, ta, but -- " Claude gave her a half-smile. "I'm not the settlin' down sort, me. Besides, I'm holdin' out," he said, and winked at Claire, who giggled. "I do all right." 

He hesitated; it wasn't in his nature to make grand statements, and he wasn't sure if Bennet really ever felt comfortable with his presence in their tight-knit little family. Especially since the spectre of Claude's abilities hovered around Claire, always a reminder that maybe some day she'd disappear too, or find herself hovering at second-story level or setting a table without touching the plates. 

"Anyhow, got m'self a family already," he said quietly. Sandra smiled warmly.

"The best part," Bennet added. "You never have to ground anyone."

Claude laughed. "S'true. A prime situation, in fact."

"Or do the dishes," Sandra said. "All right, you two, take the plates inside."

She picked up the remains of the meal and followed the children through the sliding-glass door, heckling them into the kitchen. Claude sat back and stretched, staring up at the sky that was darkening blue to black around the edges.

"Claude, I need a favor," Bennet said, and Claude tilted his head forward, cocking it to one side. "It's about Claire."

"Oh aye?" he said, sitting up. "Want some callow youth followed to make sure he's doin' right by her?"

"I wish. She's been -- distracted lately. More distracted than a girl her age ought to be."

"You think she's showin' power?" Claude asked carefully.

"I don't know," Bennet admitted, without meeting Claude's eyes. "Kids, sometimes they'll...tell other people what they won't tell their parents."

"You want me to dutch uncle your daughter?"

"I just want you to...be there. If she is, she needs someone."

"If she is, the Company'll want her."

Bennet raised his face, and Claude saw something in his eyes that he recognised. Anguish and indecision, the same things he'd felt when he'd told Bennet to keep driving, six, seven years ago now. Bennet was having his own crisis of faith, and worse, because she wasn't some farmgirl with pretty blue eyes. She was his daughter. 

"No, Bennet," Claude said, shaking his head, sharp worry rising in him. "No, you can't. You can't do a runner with her. They'll get you both."

"I'm not running anywhere. I just need to know. I can plan from there -- "

"There is no plan, Bennet. If she is, they take her, and if she isn't, she isn't. So what you're really asking is for me to talk to her and lie to you, which puts my neck on the line. And the last time I put my neck on the line _you sent me up_."

"Claude -- "

Sandra slid the door open and peered out. "You boys need anything? We're servin' ice cream cones."

Claude brought up a ready smile. "Chocolate chip?"

Sandra winked at him and glanced at her husband. Bennet wasn't as fast on the draw as Claude; it took him a second to switch. "Sure, hon. Just a cup for me."

She disappeared into the house again. The two men sat in silence, Claude tapping a finger on the table. 

"I owe you," Bennet said softly. "I know that. But I haven't got anyone else who can help. You said you could take your medicine if I was careful with the girl and I was. Now I need help for Claire, not for me. And I know you understand that."

"Ice cream!" Claire announced, carrying two ice-cream cones and a small bowl through the door, presenting one cone to Claude and the bowl to her father. Lyle and Sandra followed, Lyle licking up his already-dripping cone. Bennet was still watching Claude.

"I could do a bit of a walk," Claude said, stretching his legs and standing up. "Cub, come along? Tisn't safe out at this time o'night in the suburbs, I hear."

Claire laughed and said sure, and Bennet's look of gratitude was depressing. 

"Won't go far," Claude promised, unlatching the gate and holding it open for Claire, who gave him a proper nod and passed through, across the side-yard's grass and out to the pavement. Claude followed, eating his ice cream quietly, strolling along. 

"Dad wants you to talk to me about something, doesn't he," she said, as they walked.

"Not much slips by you," he replied. 

"You guys aren't the most subtle in the world," she said. "But I'm doing all right in school and I know I can get my bio grades up. And cheerleading isn't going to affect my grades, promise."

"Never figured it would. Besides, there's more important things'n grades, don't tell your dad I tol' you," he said. "Got to know a bit about life, got to have friends."

"Yeah, well," she ducked her head and he wondered if he'd inadvertently hit some nerve other than the one he was angling for. "I don't know that I'd really call Jackie a _friend_ sometimes."

"Sometimes you pick and choose. Sometimes you got to take what's given," he answered noncommittally.

"So what's dad want you to talk to me about?"

Claude shrugged. "This'n'that. He worries about you. Growin' up and all. Thinks you'll tell me things you'd not tell him."

"Are you gonna nark on me if I do?"

"Nah. Hey, Cub, listen now," Claude said, stopping to lean against the rail of a small river bridge. Claire stopped too, biting into her ice cream cone. "He may've asked, but you know I'm not entirely neutral myself when it comes to this family."

"Is that your stuffy way of saying you like us?" Claire asked, grinning. 

"Texans." Claude shook his head. "What I'm sayin' is, this isn't you an' your dad's pal. This is you an' me. You say somethin', it stays between us. You need help, that stays between us too. Some things s'better if a dad doesn't know it."

Claire bit her lip, her face falling. "You really mean that?"

"Bennet and I have our secrets from each other, like anyone."

"Really?" she asked curiously. 

"Everyone does." He ate the last of his ice-cream and pitched the cone down into the gully for the birds to pick apart. She grinned. "You're growin' up, you're allowed as well. But," he added, "Sometimes you think you got somethin' in hand and you're a bit young to see you haven't really. It's all in knowing what to say and what not to say. Sometimes it's easier to say a thing to a friend."

"Oh," she said, looking thoughtful.

"Grades okay, then? What about a boy?" he winked. "Or a girl?"

"Not really. There's a boy I like, but..." she shook her head. "I could tell Dad about that."

"Then what can't you tell him, hm?" he asked. She twisted her fingers together, face uncertain. "Cub, this stays between you an' me an' the bridge."

"I think I'm a freak," she blurted, then put her hands to her face. "I mean -- I'm not really, but I am, and -- god, I sound so stupid."

"Hey, no, come on now," he said, tugging her hands away. "You're no kind of freak."

"I know, it sounds like something stupid teenagers say, and you wouldn't believe me anyway -- "

"Try me," he suggested, though he could feel his heart thudding. He remembered the look on her face because he'd seen it in a mirror when he was a little younger than she was now. _I'm a freak, and nobody's going to believe me._

"You'll tell Dad and they'll put me in some kind of looney bin."

"Nobody's putting anyone in any bin, looney or otherwise," he said. "We'll sort it together, okay?"

"But it sounds so nuts..."

"You'd be surprised all the nuts I've heard that turned out not to be quite so nuts," he said. 

"I think I can heal," she whispered. "Like, super-fast. I think I'm kind of...indestructible."

He blinked at her. 

"See? It sounds totally crazy -- "

"No, no. It's fine. How d'you mean, indestructible?"

"I -- remember when I cut my hand and it was all healed up in like, two days?"

Claude cast his mind back. "The time your dad came home from California?"

"Yeah. And then like, two weeks ago I was making eggs and I burned my hand and it didn't really...hurt, not like it should, and then it was gone in like thirty seconds." Claire looked close to tears. "I know, I know how it sounds -- "

"No, that's not it," he said, tipping her chin up to make her meet his eyes. "It's okay, Cub. S'okay. I...can you...show me?"

She looked around wildly and her eyes fell on a spur of sharp metal, sticking out of a post on the bridge. She looked up at him, closed her eyes, and slammed her hand down on it. Claude felt bile rise in his throat. It passed cleanly through her hand and stuck through the other side, slicked with blood. 

With a grunt she pulled her hand free and held it out to him. The wound closed over with a sucking noise and in seconds the skin had faded to the same colour as the rest of her arm.

The poor kid was shaking, and Claude didn't know what to do. So he held out his own hand, turned it over, and disappeared.

Claire made a low, coughing sort of noise in shock, something close to a strangled scream. It was to her credit that she didn't shriek -- instead she put out her hand and found his chest, pressing her palm against it.

"See, Cub?" he asked, as she looked in vain for a sign he was still there, even though she could feel her hand pressing against his shirt. "I'm special too."

***

Bennet was waiting impatiently when they returned, cleaning the grill while Lyle and Sandra swept up the patio. He glanced up and then down again quickly as Claude and Claire passed through the gate, latching it behind them. Claire smiled up at him, hugged her dad, and ran inside; Claude lingered near the grill, hands shoved in his pockets.

"Well?" Bennet asked, when Sandra and Lyle had followed Claire inside. He didn't look up.

"Oi, Bennet. Stop a mo."

He stopped scrubbing the grill, slowly, and set the rag aside. Finally, he leaned both hands on the rim and looked up at Claude.

"Spoke with her," Claude said quietly. "Can't tell you everything, you know that. Told her it was between us."

"So she's keeping secrets -- "

"All kids keep secrets, otherwise they'd never learn anything worth knowin'," Claude answered, savouring this just a little. He felt petty for wanting revenge, but he couldn't help that. 

"What can you tell me?"

Claude grinned. He was a much, much better liar than his partner. "The salacious truth? She has a crush on a boy at school and at some party last week she tried a beer."

Bennet's shoulders sagged with relief. "Oh, my god."

"Yeah, s'terrible, I know."

"Thank you," Bennet murmured. 

"Don' thank me. Just don't go and have some talk with her about the dangers of drinkin' or whatnot, I think she learned her lesson there." His grin widened. "When Lyle needs a bit'a straightenin' out, just give a call, eh? The Doctor Is In."

"She's just -- too young yet."

Claude nodded. "Full well too young. Still, never to fret; perhaps you'll luck out and she'll end up entirely ordinary."

"Claire's never going to be _ordinary._ "

"Every dad says that." Claude slapped him on the shoulder and made for the door. "In with you; I'm off home and that grill's going to fall apart if you scrub it any further."

***

He needed to work fast, because sooner or later he'd be debriefed again and he couldn't trust the Haitian to keep things quiet. Besides, no point putting the other man in danger if he decided he should. He had to get Claire safely out of Texas and make sure she stayed safe; that meant taking her himself, because he couldn't trust anyone else and she was too young to go on her own. But he couldn't trust anyone else to help him get the chip out either, and he couldn't take her anywhere if he had that goddamn chip still in his body.

He had a little time, but it was borrowed time; since the debacle in California, when he'd proved he could work solo without automatically defaulting, they hadn't bothered debriefing him fully. It was some kind of measure of trust, but not enough, and any day he might run into a telepath or they might get suspicious and start up the scans again. 

Then came Isaac Mendez, the man who painted Claire. 

The report came through Eden but it came across Claude's desk first, seeing as how Claude had trained her after Bennet broke her of that nasty little attitude. He didn't destroy the file this time; he filed it properly and with all due process and just happened to leave out the part about what was in some of the paintings. He went to New York with Eden to bring Isaac back to Odessa, and he knew that he would certainly have to bolt if they tried to debrief him, but nothing came of it. Bennet, blissfully unaware, complained about how much it cost to buy Claire's dress for Homecoming. 

Claude hadn't spoken directly with Claire, alone, since that night in September, and he hadn't told her nearly everything. Not what her father did, not who her mother was, not why it was so important to keep this secret; the last was pretty evident anyway. He'd just asked her to sit tight and act normal or they'd both be in hot water, and she was quite the soldier about it. Sooner or later, though, they had to speak again, because he was damned if he'd let her go into danger unaware.

The opportunity came to him, oddly enough, in the form of Claire showing up at Primatech to try and get some paper for a Homecoming banner. Bennet was busy wrestling with Mendez and doing prelim research on a possible shape-shifter; Claude volunteered to show Claire the sample room and help her find something appropriate. 

"I want a word and we don't have much time," he said quietly, aware of just how dangerous this was. The sample room was a dummy part of the building and there weren't bugs or cameras, but an invisible man knows how easy it is to hear other peoples' talk. "Don't ask questions, just listen."

Claire nodded, studying the dimensions-sheet he was showing her. 

"There's a man who sees the future and he says you're in danger. Someone wants to kill you and he's going to try to do it at your Homecoming. _Don't_ talk," he said, when she opened her mouth. "I'm goin' to make sure that doesn't happen, but you have to trust me and act normal. You're hard to kill, so that makes it easier. Once you leave the house I'm goin' to be with you every step you take, even if you can't see me, right? I'm goin' to be there and I'm goin' to have a gun."

"Who -- "

"Don't know that," Claude said, setting the dimensions sheet down and wandering over to a bin of paper rolls. She followed, dutifully peering at the various papers he held out to her. "There's nothin' I can do before then, there's not enough time. Trust me, Claire."

She glanced up at him, tugging one of the rolls of paper out of the bin. He studied it, then looked through one end of the roll at her, using it like a telescope. She couldn't help but laugh. 

***

**TWO WEEKS AGO**

His major mistake was in following the wrong man.

Well, what was he supposed to think when some stranger, obviously too old to be a student, was lurking in the darkened hallways of the school? When Claire stopped to talk to him Claude nearly smacked the back of her head, because the last thing he wanted was for her to draw attention to herself. Still, it gave him time to get a good look at this dark-haired man who seemed all too interested in the cheerleaders, even for a so-called alumnus. 

He followed the man out of the school, watching cautiously as he turned and faced the doors. He should be with Claire, he'd said he would be, but he didn't really want to barge into a locker room full of half-dressed cheerleaders, either. Contrary to what most men might have thought, invisibly watching a bunch of teenaged girls undress was not his idea of a good time. 

The man took a photo out of his pocket and held it up; Claude circled around to peer at it over his shoulder, and that was when the man elbowed him directly in the stomach.

"Who the fuck are you?" he asked, whirling and grabbing Claude by the front of his shirt.

"You can see me," Claude breathed, startled, and then surged forward, grasping the kid by the throat. " _Nobody sees me!_ "

They slammed into the wall together, Claude still gripping him by the throat.

"Who are you?" he demanded, pressing the gun into the man's belly. "What do you want with that girl?"

"Nobody, I'm here -- I'm here to save someone!"

"How come you can see me?"

"I -- I can do what you can do!" the man stammered, and Claude eased back, letting him drop to the ground. They stared at each other, both breathing hard. 

"You're one'a them," Claude said, realising what he was seeing. The Company's holy grail; an Empath, alive, reasonably sane-looking, here, in his posession. 

"One of who?" the man asked. His eyes flicked to the gun. "I'm not gonna let you kill her."

"I'm not here to kill anyone, you moron," Claude retorted. 

"Well, neither am I!"

"Then who -- " Claude started, then froze. If he was here, and someone else was here who was not in fact the man who wanted to kill Claire, then that meant someone _else_ was here...

"Come on," he said, grabbing the man by his shirtfront and pulling him fully upright. Even as they ran for the doors, he heard someone scream.

He bolted down the hallway, the Empath at his heels, just as Claire came running out of the locker room, blood in her hair. He flickered into visibility, but he didn't stop. 

"Run! Go!" he shouted, as they passed each other. A dim figure lurched through the door after her. Claude slammed into him, knocking them both back into the wall, and fired three solid bullets into his chest. 

Or tried.

The gun clicked uselessly and the man raised horrifying, dead-empty eyes to his.

"Nice toy," he said, and flung Claude away like a rag doll. 

Claude fell and saw stars, but he fumbled against the smooth linoleum and tried to push himself up. He could see the Empath standing at the end of the hall, barring the murderer's way. He raised the gun and fired twice more. This time the bullets left the weapon, but they seemed to fly wide in physically impossible ways. 

Metal creaked as the man flung locker doors at the Empath -- a Telekinetic, then.

He managed to push himself up and follow where the Telekinetic went, slowly and limpingly; he saw Claire run along the ridge of the ampitheatre, then saw...

Telekinetics couldn't fly. It was a physical trait. It was like lifting yourself off the ground by grabbing your shoes and pulling; it just didn't work. But this man flew. Which meant he had more than one talent, which meant -- 

Two Empaths. 

_Two Empaths._

Two Empaths fighting, struggling on the ledge, and even as Claude staggered forward, two Empaths _falling_ backwards off the ledge.

He cursed under his breath and ran for the doors, his left leg hurting badly, blood dripping from a cut across his right arm and sluggishly soaking his shirt. 

By the time he made it through the door, Claire was there, standing and facing one of the Empaths. The other one, the one who'd been after her, was gone; Claude watched in fascination as the remaining man twisted half his body a hundred and eighty degrees to realign his legs with his torso. 

The gun wouldn't do much good, but he kept the safety off anyway, sweeping the area, looking for the other Empath. Claire crouched in front of the man sitting bewilderedly on the pavement. 

"Where is he?" Claude demanded. 

"He ran away," Claire said, putting out a hand to touch the Empath. She pressed it against his throat, then against his chest, as if she couldn't believe he were real. Claude hauled her up by her other arm and put his body physically between her and the most open part of the campus. 

"The police," the Empath said, breathing heavily.

"They can't help," Claude replied. "What's your name?"

"Peter," he said. "Petrelli."

"Get up. Come on, we haven't got any time," Claude said, reaching around Claire to give him a hand up. "Why're you here?"

"I was told..." Peter touched his own face, disbelievingly, feeling for cuts and bruises that were no longer there. "Is she the cheerleader? Saving her, did I save the world?"

" _What?_ " Claude asked. 

"I was told I had to save the cheerleader to save the world," Peter said. Claire looked up at Claude. "I came here to save her."

"Well, your job's not done yet, sonny me lad," Claude said, making a decision in the split second available to him. He turned to Claire.

"You got to get out of Odessa," he said. "And you got to do it now, because after tonight they'll know and they'll come after you."

"Who -- "

"There's no _time_ , do you get that?" Claude said. "You. Petrelli. You want to save a cheerleader?"

He thrust Claire at him, because otherwise he was going to lose his guts and then Claire would never be safe.

"Get her out of here. Get her out of Texas. Take her wherever it is you're from and keep her safe. I'll catch up with you."

"How?" Peter asked, as Claire stared at Claude in dismay.

"I'll find you, don't fret yourself about that. Go. _Now._ Here." He thrust all the money he had on him, fifty dollars and a few singles, into Claire's hands. "This is your one chance to get free with no trail. _Run!_ "

If Claire didn't comprehend what was going on, at least Peter Petrelli seemed to have a grip on the concept of "run away"; he pulled her after him into the darkness, and Claude -- a man covered in blood, holding a gun, and breathing hard -- very sensibly disappeared.

***

Bennet went out of his mind with fear and worry. 

Jackie was dead and Claire was missing; Claude couldn't even reassure him that she was alive and safe with some stranger who was willing to risk his life for Claire. The guilt gnawed away at him, but with Claire gone he could focus on getting rid of the chip and finding her. He didn't dare so much as enter Peter's name into the Company database until he was ready to move. 

Wherever they had gone, it was a damn good hiding place. 

The Company assumed that some Special had come to take Claire, and they had some information about a man who killed people by taking the tops of their heads off, which shifted blame away from Claude quite neatly. 

It was two days -- two absolutely horrifying days of Bennet in agony and Claude trying to pretend it was grief and not elation he felt. Two days before the Haitian came to his back door one night and opened his mouth and _talked._

"I know you concealed her," he said, leaning against the deadbolted door. Claude's jaw literally dropped open. "I have come to help."

He passed the stunned man and walked into the kitchen, setting a small cloth bundle on the counter. Claude followed.

"You... _talk,_ " he said. 

"Yes," the Haitian agreed. "We all have our secrets. I have come to tell you that Claire Bennet is safe with her father."

"She's not -- "

"Her birth father."

Claude wasn't certain how much shock he could take at one time without having some kind of health issue, but he was pretty sure he was reaching his limit.

"I answer to an authority outside of the Company who supercedes yourself and Mr. Bennet, in the case of Claire Bennet's safety," the Haitian continued, undoing the bundle. "Through Claire, she has learned of your service to the Petrelli family and wishes to help."

"Petrelli. That's the Empath's name," Claude said numbly. 

"Also the name of his brother, Claire's father." The Haitian unrolled the bundle. Light gleamed off sharp metal blades and a small glass bottle. Claude eyed the surgical kit warily.

"There is new identification awaiting you when this is finished," the Haitian said, removing the little bottle and a syringe. "It will be painless, and will not take long."

"Whoa, ho, no," Claude said, backing away. The Haitian filled the syringe, tested it, and set it down. "Nobody's cuttin' into me. That thing's impossible to get to."

"So you were told, of course," the Haitian replied. "It is all sterile. There is no need to fear."

"No need to fear you comin' near me with sharp objects ten minutes after I learn you can talk for the first time in fourteen years?" Claude asked. 

"Take off your shirt, and rub this on your skin," the Haitian said, tossing him a bottle of iodine. "If you leave work tomorrow evening and go directly to the airport, you will have a fourteen-hour head start. That will be enough, if they think the chip is still active."

***

When Bennet unlocked Claude's door with a spare key he'd been given years before, he found the apartment empty of human presence, even after a sweep with thermographic goggles. The place was tidy, though he noticed a few things were missing -- there weren't enough clothes in his dresser, his watch was gone, and some of the photograph frames on his walls were empty.

There was also a handwritten note on his clean, bare dining-room table. It was held down by a small piece of metal, crusted with dried blood. 

_Claire is alive and safe. The Company cannot have her. Do not attempt to follow her. Do not attempt to follow me. -- C.R._

Bennet lifted the note carefully, folding it and putting it in a plastic evidence bag. He would tell the Company, of course, but this way he was innocent and Claire was safe. 

He owed Claude more than he could ever repay, and he would never have a chance to even try. He owed Claude the life of a daughter he would probably never see again. 

"So, that's my punishment for turning you in," he said to himself, closing the door and locking it carefully behind him. "Slow in coming, but every inch effective. Well done, Claude."


End file.
